Sensory Deprivation
by Catchy Turn
Summary: What can one do when even their own senses won't obey them anymore? A onesided angst bit from Draco's perspective.


Disclaimer: No, they don't belong to me.

A/N: This is one of those things that I came up with in about fifteen minutes of furious typing. Sorry if there are rampant mistakes because of it, I have no beta. It's one sided, but it gets its point across, I think. If you have questions or comments or whatever, I'd be more than happy to shed light wherever I can. I hope that someone out there enjoys it!

Sensory Deprivation

It was almost like he couldn't breathe anymore. The easiest of functions were barely performable and just getting through the day alive was proving harder and harder to do. He couldn't concentrate on his classes and his grades were beginning to slide farther than they ever had before. His hands shook now, more than they did before. He could barely hide it from others much less from himself.

There were times when everything would just go black and he couldn't stop it. He didn't want to stop it. They were big pieces of empty space that just didn't fit in with the rest of his memories. Dark and appalling memories that he'd created out of nothing. They would just come in uninvited even though they'd never happened. He didn't know what was real and what he'd imagined. They simply melted together and he was left standing confused and unaware.

He didn't know what he was doing or wasn't doing. It was times like these that he could try to forget, he could try to undo whatever had taken a hold of him. Yet this terrible creature he'd somehow become when he wasn't looking broke out even then. He tried so hard to keep it in, to push it away underneath everything else. But he failed. Each and every time that reality came rushing back at him, it was worse. The feeling had only intensified and it hurt to even attempt a normal life.

How could he be normal with this, this thing going on? Hell, he hadn't been exactly common before, but this was more than he could handle. It was far too much to be shoved at one person. He hadn't asked for this, what was going on? Who could possibly hate him so much as to curse him with something so deadly? Even he didn't hate himself that much. But he had to somehow get a grip on, well, everything. There was no one who could ever know about this. Not one person.

His friends were starting to notice. There were awkward questions that had to be skillfully danced around for fear of even more awkward revelations. He was beginning to become more than slightly desperate. And it showed.

He was looking worse as every day passed. That alone was enough to make him hate his own body for this twisted joke it was playing. He was used to being immaculate, both looking and feeling the part, but now, now that was hardly an option anymore. He was sleeping in the clothes he would collapse onto his bed in and waking up the next day to simply drag himself up and try to function.

Even in sleep he was haunted. He couldn't get one solitary minute to himself. There were dreams that, god, dreams he shouldn't be having. He would try to stay awake, needing to prolong his sanity if only for a few minutes, but in the end he didn't even have a chance with that. He hated sleep, but he longed for it. He couldn't stand that he had to let his guard down for even a moment, but there he could just be. There wasn't any hiding in sleep. There was only the blatant truth scowling back at him as he cowered away from it.

He didn't want to do it, but he did. The humiliation was almost more than he could bear, but it just felt _so_ good to do. While he slept he could beg for what he wanted. He could moan that he wanted more and oh _god _please don't stop. He could let himself do exactly what he wanted with the one he wanted. He craved it, this abnormality, so much that he could feel it wrapping around him, claiming his whole being.

These were the only times his senses weren't deprived. While he tossed and turned and the sheets stuck to his sweat soaked form he could feel everything. Nothing was lost to him and it felt as though he were coming alive for the first time. All things became new, like he'd never experienced them before.

Yet when he touched things throughout the day, he felt nothing. At first it was terrifying, like a terribly important piece of him was being ripped away, but as time passed it almost became a relief. The less he felt, the more he could block out. He knew there was only one thing that would make the feeling come back, that would let him finally know contact, but he wasn't about to do that.

What he wanted was sick. No, what he needed, was sick. Just the thought of it was enough to make him ill. His stomach would clench and his head would pound, yet he begged for it with such a furious desire that he would turn pale and have to clutch at the wall simply to remain upright.

He was taunted every day. Whispers coursed through his numbed ears, not distracting him in the least from his own thoughts. He couldn't hear through them to what anyone was saying so he was left to his own twisted mind. And it only told him things that he would never want to hear. Things that made him wince with shame yet burn with unsatisfied need.

He was loosing weight. What was the point in eating when one couldn't taste. There was no joy to be had in anything of that sort. He only wanted one thing on his lips and it couldn't be replaced by anything. He wanted to taste sweat, to have his lust finally take shape and control him. He wanted to drag his lips over every inch of the body that he couldn't have. He wanted to mark it as his and no one else's. It was only in who he would never allow himself to possess that there was peace.

Harry Potter.


End file.
